


Over The Counter

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Honeymoon, Porn, honeymoon sex, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hook and Charming burst into the shop, they interrupted Belle and Rumpelstiltskin's honeymoon, and they intend to get right back to it... 'it' being an intense shopgirl/employer roleplay involving a cane and some traumatised index cards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Counter

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this post so credit to [delintthedarkone](http://delintthedarkone.tumblr.com) on tumblr for her awesome tags that inspired this!

“When you said you had a surprise for me, darling,” Rumpelstiltskin frowned as Belle shot him a wide, utterly delighted grin, and let them into his shop, “Paperwork wasn’t what I had in mind. You know I needn’t reopen for a while yet, surely there’s nothing here you need?”

“Oh,” Belle’s grin turned intent, wicked, and Rumpelstiltskin shivered a little. She was so beautiful, and she had him in her thrall so completely, and nothing was better than when she had a plan. “There’s plenty here I need.”

She closed the door behind them, and pulled a cigarette lighter from her purse, walking a perimeter of the shop and lighting every candle she saw along the way. Rumpelstiltskin looked around himself in bemusement, taking in the newly organised shelving and the freshly cleaned surfaces, the legacy of her tenure as proprietor in his absence. What was remarkable was that the shop hadn’t lost any of its unique character: it was still darker than most other stores in town, still a little gloomy, with the aura of mystery and unknowable chaos, of magic, that had suited him so well. All Belle had done was cleaned, tidied, and made it look like somewhere someone cared about, somewhere that was loved and looked after. 

That was one of her many gifts, he thought, unable to keep himself from smiling dotingly at his new wife, who was now walking back toward him, a hopeful smile on her face.

She took his hands in hers; his smile did not waver. “What?” she asked, smiling back but with that confused little line appearing between her brows, “What is it?”

“You are remarkable,” he told her, for the hundredth time, “I was only thinking about what a fortunate man I am to have married you.”

Belle smiled, blushed and looked down at their joined hands. All this time, he thought, and she still didn’t understand how special she really was.

“I love you,” she said, after a moment, looking back up into his face with the warmest, sweetest smile he’d ever seen in his life.

“I love you too, Mrs Gold,” he replied, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips, pulling back before she had a chance to deepen it and lose track of her thoughts. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you led me down here, rather than staying nice and cosy in our honeymoon bed?” 

Belle blushed even harder, and shook her head, clearly trying to work out how to phrase something difficult. Rumpelstiltskin tried to hold back a short burst of panic: if it was something serious or dangerous, he doubted she’d have lit candles before speaking, or looked at him with such inexplicable adoration. 

“I was minding the shop while you were… not around,” she started, slowly. “And I love the library, I do, and I fully intend to reopen once you’re back installed here, but… it was odd, working here. I kept expecting you to come out from the back room and grumble about overdue rent or a broken artefact, and of course you never did…” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed, and pulled her in close, his hand cradling the back of her head, her arms around his waist and face pressed to his chest, breathing him in. “I’m here now, I promise. You’re not alone anymore. I’m so sorry my darling…”

She sniffed hard and got herself together, moving back just a little so she could keep talking, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, there is a point to this, I swear,” she gave a little laugh at herself, “Anyway, what I mean is that I had time to think. And sometimes it was sad, or angry, but other times… I wondered what it would have been like, you know? If Regina hadn’t come between us, and I’d been cursed like anyone else. If we’d worked here together, and I’d called you Mr Gold… and now I’m Mrs Gold, and I never really knew the man that name applied to.”

“You wouldn’t want to have met him,” Rumpelstiltskin assured her, “Trust me, Belle, Mr Gold wasn’t just unkind, he was cold. He’d have used you and spat you out. I’m glad you never had to meet him.”

“Still,” Belle’s mouth was twisted into a hopeful smile, and Rumpelstiltskin finally twigged what it was she could be referring to. “I was wondering if we could… pretend? For a little while?” She bit her lip, and reached out to the counter, fetching the spare cane he no longer needed, and handing it to him. “I thought this might help… get into character?”

“Oh?” he smirked at her, finally on the same page. He didn’t know what Belle could possibly gain from this request, but he’d not deny her something so simple as a brief stint in his old skin. He took the cane from her hands and braced himself on it, as he had done for the past thirty years in this land, and the old way came rushing back. He raised an eyebrow, and saw her shiver. Interesting. “And what sort of characters are we to play, my dearest? Are we to stand and do paperwork for the next few hours until your curiosity is sated?” he was teasing her, and she worried the inside of her lip and looked up with pleading eyes, shaking her head. “Should I scold you, and order you to clean the floors on all fours?” he suggested, and reached a hand around to press his palm to her backside, leering down at her, “You always did look lovely down there, my dearest, and I’d certainly enjoy the view.”

She shuddered all over, her eyes closing for a moment as she swallowed hard. He worried he’d gone too far, spoiled her appetite for this game, but then he had to wonder what exactly she’d expected in asking for this. He’d be more than happy to simply hold her in his arms for the next century, but she had to know that he would grant any request she made of him, that if she wanted him to be the imposing, domineering man he’d been in the curse he could deny her nothing.

“Is that what you would have done?” she asked, breathing a little shallowly, her colour heightened, a fact that he noted and filed away for later. He’d no idea that a little show of authority would have this effect on her: it was delicious.

“With you as my shop girl?” he paused, truly considering the question, “I think it would have been much as it was in the castle, to tell you the truth,” he told her, “I would have been incapable of keeping my eyes off you, and equally of believing you could ever want me to look. Until, of course, I broke and ravished you against the nearest available surface.”

“I would have wanted you,” she promised, breathlessly, “in any world, any form, or by any name, I always want you.”

He leaned down and kissed her once more, before drawing back and pulling himself up to his full height. “Then… I would like to know why you’re standing about gawping, Miss French.” 

\---

Belle noticed the change as a physical one: one moment, her smiling, loving, warm-eyed husband was standing before her, and then, with no more than a tensing of shoulders and closing of his expression, he was someone else. Someone intimidating and authoritative, a dragon in his lair, and Belle felt a shiver run down her spine at his penetrating stare before she schooled her expression into one of mild embarrassment, and nodded.

If he was getting into character, then so would she.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr Gold,” she stammered, hiding her smile and doing her best impression of a cowed employee. “But I’ve finished my usual chores, so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

She could see him glancing about the shop for a moment, likely searching for a job she could do. Finally, his eyes alighted on the card box on the counter, and he looked back down at her.

“I’ve some filing to do, dearie,” he said, coolly, “you can help me with that for the remainder of the day.”

“Is there nothing else?” she asked, coyly, and she saw him raise an eyebrow.

“If you’re not willing to do the easy work assigned to you, Miss French,” he replied, “then I’ll set you to less pleasant tasks. How would scrubbing the floor suit?”

He’d been serious about that, she thought, and smothered a smile. Clearly the idea of watching her backside move – or, perhaps, just of her on her hands and knees in front of him – was exciting to him. She’d have to remember that.

“Slave driver,” she teased, trying to remember the easy camaraderie they’d established in the castle, the way she’d tease and he’d growl, she’d shiver and he’d grin. She turned on her heel and strutted back to the desk, making sure to sway her hips under her short black skirt. His eyes scorched into her skin, and she tried to hide how her hands shook under his scrutiny as she started sifting through the box he’d indicated.

“Careful, Miss French,” he murmured, low and deep, as he strode closer, not limping as he used to but allowing the cane to tap on the floor even so. Belle was acutely aware of him striding closer, coming around to stand beside her and gently placing warm hands on her hips to scoot her to the side to make room. Despite having spent much of the night before naked in each others arms, relearning every inch of one another’s bodies in intense detail, after merely half an hour clothed and apart that firm, almost innocent touch was enough to make her tremble. “That smart mouth of yours might get you into trouble someday.”

“Ah, promises, promises,” she sighed, shooting him a quick, flirtatious smile, and he stalled for a moment before his assumed calm demeanour came back.

“Let’s just get to work, shall we?” he said, briskly, and she nodded, because all games aside the work did need doing, and they might as well do it now while they had something else to entertain them.

About five minutes in, Rumpelstiltskin’s hand brushed her backside as he reached for something, and lingered there longer than was necessary, giving her a light squeeze before returning to task as if nothing had happened. Belle started, already caught up in her reading, but didn’t comment, instead taking her pen and slipping it between her lips, nibbling the end as if in thought and not looking at him as he watched.

His eyes remained caught on that pen, sliding slowly in and out of her mouth, for long seconds before he dragged himself away. Clearly this game was to be one of endurance.

Another five minutes passed, and his hand brushed hers deliberately as they both shuffled through the card index. He leaned a little closer to her on that pretext and inhaled, but didn’t mention her perfume – his favourite, yet another wedding present – or how fast she was breathing. 

He moved back, but she could hear how his own breath had quickened, and smothered a smile.

“Is there something the matter, Mr Gold?” she asked, presently, and he frowned and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Miss French?” he blinked, all innocence.

“You’re staring at me,” she pointed out, as if it were not a regular occurrence, as if she were not more than used to it by now. “Do I have a label sticking out or something?”

She turned around, and felt his gaze burn the back of her neck as she swept up her hair to let him look. She then bent over, and picked up one of the larger boxes, choosing that moment to carry it over to the shelving on the other side of the room. He followed her, and when she turned back he was stood perhaps four paces away, his hands on his cane.

“No, but now that you mention it I do believe we need to discuss dress code around here,” he said, leaning back to cast a headed, critical eye over her attire. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning and looking down at herself, as if unsure of the problem. It wasn’t as if she’d dressed specifically to make him watch, of course, or that he’d told her as she had chosen her outfit how badly he wanted to tear it off her. Soon, she’d promised, and soon was fast approaching, she thought with a shiver of anticipation.

“It’s most unprofessional to allow one’s undergarments to be visible through clothing,” he told her, his eyes fixed on her black lacy bra, which was in no way hidden by her filmy white shirt. “One might get ideas.”

“It’s fashionable, Mr Gold,” she replied, with a sweet smile, “Not all of us can wear a tailored three-piece suit every day and leave it at that.”

She cast an appreciative eye over his form, the suit that was neatly cut to perfection and the slender, lithe body beneath, and allowed her approval to show on her face. “Although I have to say, it works for you.”

He was frozen still, and Belle giggled and brushed past him airily, returning to the desk as if nothing was wrong. He joined her only a moment later, hands back on her hips and mouth next to her ear. She jumped, then trembled when he growled, “I’m glad you think so, Miss French,” into her ear, and pressed his hips forward, so she was trapped between him and the hard edge of the desk, the evidence of his desire pressed between them.

He pressed a kiss to the side of her jaw, slow and hot, and she melted in his arms, her hands bracing her on the desk so she didn’t fall when her knees turned to water. “Oh, Mr Gold,” she breathed, “W-what are you doing?”

“Nothing, my dear,” he breathed, stepping away but leaving his hands lingering, trailing over her skin as he left her, “I apologise, that was inappropriate.” His voice was rough, husky, and Belle knew he was as affected by this as she was. 

There was something different to this, this slow burning, teasing and touching and pretending it was illicit and forbidden, that made every sensation a hundred times more intense. After all the things they’d done in the past twenty-four hours, being made to wait was somehow just as erotic as tearing one another’s clothes off. And from the way he was looking at her, Belle knew he felt it too.

“It’s alright,” Belle said, breathlessly, “I don’t mind.”

“You should,” he noted, his tone both mild and snarling, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “You should run a mile, Miss French. I’m not the sort of man you should want kissing your neck.”

“Mr Gold… I…” she marshalled her thoughts, noting something in his face that hinted past their little game, an insecurity she suspected she’d never quite be able to eradicate entirely. But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t try. “You’re the only man I want kissing my neck,” she promised, her voice almost pleading, a confession and a prayer. It was ridiculous that even after all this time, after their wedding, even, he could do this to her. But he always had, and she suspected he likely always would. 

“Oh, Miss French, you should choose your words more carefully,” his eyes gleamed, his smile turning wild and wolfish, and a bolt of anticipation and delicious fear ran through her. That smile always lead to somewhere wonderful, and she couldn’t wait to see where he’d take her this time. “An old monster might get ideas, with a beautiful young woman cornered in his lair, and saying such pretty things.”

He advanced toward her, and Belle took a step back, the urge to simply grab his tie and haul him down to her almost overwhelming. His eyes darted from her eyes to her lips to her breasts, and Belle felt his gaze like a physical thing, as she turned so her back was to the counter, and he loomed over her, crowding her and setting her heart pounding. 

“You’re not a monster,” she breathed, and he smirked, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, across her jaw where he’d kissed her, and then down her neck, so his mouth was right over her pulse point, and he could feel her heartbeat thrumming under his lips.

“Are you sure?” he rumbled against her skin, and she shivered as the vibrations ran through her. One hand reached up to fist in her hair and tilt her head back, and his nails scratched lightly over her skin, making her shake against him. She felt rather than saw his little smile as he nuzzled his lips against her, and then gasped as she felt his teeth close against her skin, sucking at the skin and lapping it with his tongue, until Belle moaned and had to grasp the edges of the desk with both hands to remain upright. 

His free hand crept up her leg, and under her skirt, to the lacy tops of her stockings. He’d seen her put them on before they left: he still feigned surprise.

“See-through shirts and now stockings, Miss French?” he teased, running light fingertips over the lace and the sensitive skin of her upper thighs, “It’s almost as if you’re trying to provoke me.”

“Perhaps I am,” she replied, “are you going to be provoked, Mr Gold?”

“You’re a wicked little thing, dearie,” he breathed, and ran his fingers higher, up between her legs to stroke along the damp fabric of her underwear. She stiffened and moaned as his fingertip caught on her little nub beneath the cloth, and he grinned against her neck, and kissed her again, and then again, each time open-mouthed and with a little more tongue, his fingers stroking and stroking ever so lightly over her knickers, until she was shaking and halfway out of her mind. “Is this what you wanted, Miss French?” he asked, apparently happy to torment her until she begged for mercy. The very thought made her nerves sing.

“Damn.” He muttered, stilling, and Belle frowned.

“What?” she murmured, concerned, and he released her, stepping back and returning to his former position.

“We have company,” he grumbled, and she hurriedly pulled her collar back up to cover the mark he’d left and tried to tidy her mussed hair and straighten her skirt. Her folds throbbed, uncomfortably warm and wet from his ministrations, but she tried to ignore it even as her body bemoaned the loss of his touch. They had scant seconds to look as if they were busy with work before they were interrupted. 

Belle’s eyes settled on Hook and scowled: for all that she’d not thrown him out the last time he was here, she was still far less than comfortable in his presence. David was no better, if she told the truth, for her anger at his and his family’s disregard for Rumpelstiltskin’s safety in the past months ran deep. She didn’t even try to muster a smile for their entrance, and she knew Rumple was putting in no more effort than she.

She was not surprised when the mask of Mr Gold did not drop in front of their guests. Belle had just about resigned herself to waiting – for surely he didn’t want to flout their intimacies so publicly – when his hand crept out and settled on her backside as it had before, squeezing slightly, making her jump. At once the throbbing between her legs returned in full force, and she was suddenly desperate, aching for his touch to return to where it had been before, for him to throw her down take her right then and there, audience be damned.

David mentioned something about a necklace. Belle grasped at the thought with both hands to distract her from her husband’s hand caressing her backside, and reached for the card index, pulling out a card she’d only recently filed away, and trying to look vaguely interested and helpful.

That sent them away, thank goodness. The door closing was music to Belle’s ears.

In a moment, Rumpelstiltskin had pushed her back against the counter and pressed the full length of his body against hers, his lips to her ear and his hands braced on either side of her, trapping her. She could feel every inch of him flush against her, and she smiled and wriggled happily.

“Now,” he growled, “where were we?”

“Mr Gold!” she cried, in entirely feigned shock, “They could come back any moment!”

“Let them,” he said, darkly, “Let them watch.”

Belle shivered, and swallowed hard at that, the thought unbearably exciting for all that, in reality, she didn’t want to share this with anyone. Rumpelstiltskin was hers, and she was his, and that was what mattered.

She shifted and turned in his arms; he stepped back to let her, and then pressed back instantly the moment she was settled.

“Maybe we should… keep working?” she suggested, “The shop needs it, I’ve seen the back room, Mr Gold,” she continued, coyly, one finger pressed to her lips, “It’s a mess.”

“Wouldn’t that be terribly risky, Miss French?” he asked, “To remain alone in the shop with your lecherous old employer? Anything could happen…”

“I hope it does,” she whispered, pressing a bold hand to the hard bulge at the front of his trousers and grinning wickedly, “And so do you, by the looks of it.” She ground her hand against him for a moment, and his eyes fluttered closed, breath catching at the friction against his cock. 

Belle took advantage of his distraction to wriggle away, and get back to what she’d been doing before. She kept her head down, and heard rather than saw him cross firmly to the front door, and lock it with the key kept in his pocket, clearly having taken her concern to heart. His cane tapped on the ground, and her excitement grew with every small sound.

She pretended to be deeply interested in the in one of the cards, as she heard Rumpelstiltskin return to her side. Her breath caught as she looked up at him and saw him watching her. He was standing, as he had been earlier, with his hands braced on his cane and a cool, imperious expression on his handsome face. Only the heat simmering in his eyes told of any emotion at all, ad it was directed straight at her. She felt her folds clench again, still too hot and riled up from before, and she hoped he wouldn’t torture her much longer.

“That doesn’t look like working, dear,” he noted, mildly. “That looks more like gawping again, to me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Gold,” she said, quickly, “Is there anything in particular I should be doing?”

“How about by answering my question from earlier?” he suggested, stepping closer, crowding her again, although this time she held her ground and didn’t back away, however much her instincts told her to. She loved him beyond reason and knew he’d never hurt her, but there was something terrifying and wonderful to see him stalk like that, like a predator, all lithe grace and dark intent.

“What question was that?” she asked, confused, hoping she hadn’t been so distracted by his hands and their visitors to miss something important.

“I asked whether this was what you wanted?” he asked, drawing closer, still, “By wearing such provocative clothing to the shop. Whether you did so in order to tempt your employer into ravishing you against a countertop in the workplace.”

“There hasn’t been much ravishing, Mr Gold,” she pointed out, her whole body on fire, her core uncomfortably warm and wet. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Put your hands on the counter,” he said, and she pretended to hesitate, to be unsure.

“Why?” she asked, and the intensity of his stare almost burned the clothing off her then and there.

“Because I told you to,” he said, “and you’re a good girl, aren’t you Miss French? Good shop girls do as they’re told, and don’t question.”

“Yes, Mr Gold,” she breathed, shaking all over from excitement as she braced herself on the counter as he’d asked, palms flat, and waited for him to join her.

Instead, he watched, his eyes raking over her with a little hum of approval. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and she blushed, knowing that he meant it. Even when she wore no make-up and had just woken up, he thought she was beautiful.

“What now, Mr Gold?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Oh, I thought I’d just admire you,” he teased, “you’re very becoming in that position, dearie, the view is marvellous.”

“Bastard,” she growled under her breath, and in a moment she felt the handle of his cane on her back, stroking down her spine to her backside, and his voice turned menacing and dangerous. She trembled: this was so much better than she’d ever imagined, even on those long and lonely days when she’d been so worried for him, and cultivated these fantasies to keep herself warm at night.

“What was that, Miss French? Disrespect?”

“No, Mr Gold,” she pleaded, voice trembling, her legs clenching to alleviate some of the ache between her thighs, desperate for him, every moment heightening the tension and making it worse.

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, and brushed the handle of his cane against her buttocks through her skirt, as a warning. “I should punish you for talking out of turn,” he mused, “your backside would make such a fetching shade of red, don’t you think?”

“No,” she moaned, “please don’t, I’m sorry Mr Gold. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Really?” he mused, and thankfully the cane withdrew. Belle sagged in relief against the countertop, only to stiffen again when he placed the cane beside her against the desk, and strode nearer, to stand behind her and press his hard length against her backside. “Oh,” he breathed, draping himself over her and breathing into her ear, a low growl that melted her bones. “The things you do to me, Miss French.”

“What are you going to do to me, Mr Gold?” she asked, excitement making her voice tremble, and he chuckled.

“Oh, dearie,” he murmured, and flipped up her skirt, his hand unbearably hot and heavy against her tender flesh. “I’m going to make you scream.”

He slipped his hand up between her legs, and this time he wasted no time in teasing, his fingers sliding under the soaked lace and going directly for the places that made her legs tremble. She gasped and rocked her hips back, trying to increase the friction of the rough pads of his fingers against her sensitive folds, and he responded by taking her little bud between thumb and forefingers and pinching, hard and sudden, rolling his fingers ever so slightly so she squealed. He chuckled low in her ear, “Yes, just like that.”

“Please,” she panted, her head ducking as he rolled and rolled his fingers, the heel of his palm rubbing against her entrance with wonderful pressure. “Please…”

“Please what?” he breathed, and she made an incoherent little whimper and bucked her hips back, desperate for more of his touch. The fantasy was wonderfully freeing: in their real life, as themselves, Belle would never say such things aloud, and Rumpelstiltskin would never tease her like this. She didn’t think she’d want it all the time, but right now the firm, controlled feeling of his hands on her, the unrelenting rumble of his voice and the sense of being at his mercy, forced to beg for what she wanted, thrilled her to her bones and made her embarrassingly damp between her legs.

“Please don’t stop,” she moaned, all shame thrown to the wind, trying to remember how Lacey would have phrased it, the wording from this world, “please… please fuck me Mr Gold, please… Rumple…” his true name fell from her lips without her control, and that seemed to be what did for him.

“Absolutely,” he growled, and she almost giggled at his sudden haste, his eagerness to withdraw his fingers from her – and she moaned in protest at that, because she’d been close, so very close to the peak – and taking hold of the waistband of her delicate lace knickers, pulling hard. The lace tore, and Belle gasped in surprise, although in all honesty it shouldn’t have shocked her in the slightest: it was the third pair in the last twelve hours.

He tucked the remaining scraps in his pocket, and she heard the pull of a zipper as he freed himself. In moments she could feel him pressing at her entrance, and she was so wet, so ready for him; one hand cupped her breast and squeezed hard as he thrust inside. Belle moaned in relief and pleasure, the sensation of having him inside her, filling her, one she knew she’d never have enough of.

He teased her breast briefly as he pulled out, before slamming back home again and drawing a cry from her lips. His hand trailed down her front slowly, over her ribs, pausing to rest warm and heavy on her stomach before drifting lower, in between her legs so that he could return at that wonderful hidden bud while he moved inside her.

He set up a punishing pace, a slow drag out and than a hard thrust inside that had her gasping every time. His fingers were restless, rubbing one moment and pinching the next, never settling into a pattern or letting her relax, forcing the pleasure to keep building and building until she was squirming under his hands, desperate for release. She clenched her inner muscles hard around his cock, trying to give back any of the torment he was putting her through, and he groaned and buried his face in her neck, draped over her and braced with one hand on the desk beside hers. He lavished her throat and jaw with open mouthed kisses and little scrapes of his teeth, and then he found a rhythm between his cock and his hand that worked perfectly and she screamed for him, arching her hips back and begging for more and more, anything he could give her, anything that would just push her over the edge into bliss.

“My Belle,” he panted, all pretext gone, “All mine, forever… love you so much… so beautiful… my Belle…”

“Yes…” she moaned, “Forever, I love you, I love you…” the last syllable ended in a long, high keen as he hit one spot inside her that made her see stars, once, twice, three times, and then she was screaming and clenching all over, her climax roaring through her as he groaned, long and low into her ear, and his thrusts became erratic and jerky as he followed her over the edge.

They collapsed onto the desk in a heap, Rumpelstiltskin shifting only at the last moment so that his weight didn’t crush hers. For a moment Belle just leaned there in a daze, her eyes unfocussed and her mouth set in a stupid, sated grin, but then Rumpelstiltskin was leaning around to kiss her mouth, and she had enough brainpower for that at least, if nothing else. Her bones still felt molten, too hot and unstable for use, and she wondered if he could carry her home in this condition.

“Was that everything you hoped, sweetheart?” he checked, when they pulled apart for breath, and Belle had to laugh because it had been so much better than that.

“It was wonderful,” she praised, stroking his hair absently, loving how he leaned into her touch like a flower to the sun. “Thank you.”

“I hope I’d have been nicer to you than that,” he said, a little shamefacedly, as Belle tried to straighten her skirt and do up the loose buttons on her shirt, and Rumpelstiltskin tucked himself away and fixed his tie. “If you worked for me, I mean.”

“It worked for now,” she grinned, “You’re really attractive when you’re all controlled like that, you know,” she mused, playing with his tie absently, “It was everything I wanted. This time.”

“Not every time, I hope?” he checked, half in jest, “I don’t think I could keep that kind of patience every time. I can barely keep my hands off you when you smile like that. For all that you seemed to be enjoying it then… I hope I wasn’t that unkind to you before?”

“Of course not!” she giggled, “Don’t you remember? For all your claims now that you wanted to ravish me from the very first day, you barely touched me in all my time with you. You were all bashful and sweet, a perfect gentleman,” she leaned up and pressed an affectionate kiss to his lips, which he returned with the same stunned surprise he always wore when she showed her affection. All this time, she thought, and he still didn’t truly believe she could love him as much as she did.

Belle intended to spend the rest of her life rectifying that. 

“I was not sweet,” he protested, when her words finally hit him and she was sauntering out of the shop with him hot on her heels, “I was the Dark One, darling, I was a murderous, bloodthirsty monster.”

“Rumple, if you’d seen the look on your face that day when you caught me by the curtains, you’d have thought yourself a schoolboy with a crush.”

“Still wasn’t bloody sweet,” he grumbled, but half-heartedly, and she laughed as they walked out of the shop and were greeted by total darkness. A blackout. Wonderful.

“When did the lights go out?” she wondered aloud, and she was turning to Rumpelstiltskin, to ask if he’d done this or if they could fix it – did it have anything to do with Charming and Hook’s mission? – when he caught her by the waist and slammed her against the shop door, his mouth inches from hers and his leg insinuated between both of hers.

“I’ll show you how sweet I am,” he promised, and when his mouth met hers all thoughts of blackouts and magic were forgotten in the dizzying heat of his kisses.

(she’d regret that ten minutes later, when the lights came back and exposed them pressed against the shop with her legs around his waist and her skirt up, but that was another matter)


End file.
